


None of Your Business, or, Something Intimate between Two Men

by NikoNotHere



Series: One-Shots [14]
Category: Rammstein
Genre: Band Fic, Bets & Wagers, Drinking Games, Friends With Benefits, Friendship, Hand Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex, Stress Relief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:02:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23864950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NikoNotHere/pseuds/NikoNotHere
Summary: Peter Tägtgren and Till Lindemann are in the middle of recording their first album together in Peter's remote cabin recording studio. Peter hits a creative wall and needs a break, and Till is more than eager to distract the musician from his work.
Relationships: Till Lindemann/Peter Tägtgren
Series: One-Shots [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2126496
Comments: 14
Kudos: 39





	1. Relax

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cheriii](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheriii/gifts).



> This is a prompt-fill for cherrisplace of Tumblr/Dreamwidth:  
> "I know it's not really a Rammstein pairing, so I'm sorry, but I just wish to read something between Till and Peter Tägtgren. I watched and read a lot of interviews and stuff about them because Lindemann tour, and I adore them together.  
> I don't care if it is smut, fluff or something else. Anything goes (but I really like smut)."
> 
> I also based this on an interview where, when questioned "What else happened" between them when they recorded, Till replied, "That's none of your business. That's something intimate between two men."
> 
> -December 2019 interview with Aardschok.

Peter scowled at his computer. He’d been trying to edit the same line for an hour and was getting nowhere with it. It just sounded like the same shit repeating itself, no matter how he tried adjusting the various levels and tracks. As he was getting dangerously close to chucking the entire computer out the window, he chose to sit back instead and rub his face. How long had he been sitting here working? He couldn’t remember. Maybe it was time for a break.

He kicked back from the desk, sending himself rolling across the room in the spinning office chair. Peter closed his tired eyes and let himself roll in circles until the chair stopped of its own accord.

“Are you that bored already?”

Peter cracked open an eye to see Till grinning at him from the doorway. He scowled and threw up a deserved middle finger in the big man’s direction.  
“You have literally the easiest part of the whole process while I have to do everything else, so you can fuck right off.”

“Writing lyrics isn’t always bed of roses, you know.” Till walked past Peter’s office chair and flopped down on the couch on the other side of the room.

“Sure. For you it’s more like a bed of leather and chains,” Peter quipped. He grabbed the lever on the underside of his chair and yanked, hauling out the foot rest and leaning the back down. He closed his eyes and folded his hands over his chest, intending to take a quick nap to refresh himself.

A throaty rumble from across the room indicated Till was in thought over his comment.  
“While somewhat true, I also like roses quite a bit,” Till mused.

Peter didn’t answer, as he was determined to relax his aching head so he could get back to editing.

“You know what else I like?” Till’s insistent voice poked through Peter’s tired mind like a child’s finger in a frosted cake.

“I could give you a damn list,” Peter said, “But go ahead and say what you’re thinking so my brain can switch off for a bit.”

“Fishing.”

Peter snorted. “Literally everyone who knows your name knows that. Let me sleep.” He turned over slightly in his chair to face away from Till, hoping he’d take the hint.

He didn’t.

“Do you know why I like it so much?”

Peter sighed loudly-- an exaggerated, dramatic noise that let Till know exactly how pissed he was getting.  
“Don’t know, don’t care. Ask in an hour if you’re so hell-bent.”

“I like it because it clears your head. You don’t have to think about anything. Just cast, reel in, repeat.”

“Gonna fucking cast you on your ass in a minute,” Peter muttered under his breath. Blessed silence followed his grumpy utterance, and he settled further into his chair to sleep. It lasted only a moment.

“I’m saying you need to get up and come fishing with me,” Till clarified, his voice suddenly right next to Peter’s ear.

Startled, Peter flinched away to the side, nearly falling out of his chair. Till’s bellowing laughter made Peter’s anger simmer.

“Come on,” Till chided, trying to push the chair back toward the desk. “Come fishing. I promise it’ll help you relax.”

“And just how is catching fish supposed to be more relaxing than sleeping?” Peter countered, glaring at his friend. He already knew he’d not be getting a nap if Till was this insistent, but Peter was grouchy and tired and felt like being petulant.

“Look, I swear you’ll feel better afterward. If not, I’ll buy you a bottle of Jägermeister.”

Peter raised an extremely skeptical eyebrow.

“Fine, *two* bottles of Jäger, and I’ll promise to leave you alone for the entire day tomorrow if you don’t feel significantly better after we go fishing.”

Peter narrowed his eyes suspiciously at the man’s hand as he asked, "And what do you get out of it?"

"A fishing partner, and you have to promise to take the night off and go along with my "relaxation" tactics."  
Till stuck out his hand to Peter and said, “Deal?”

Though Peter was incredibly distrustful of what Till meant by "tactics," he knew he'd not get any peace to work until the man-child got his way.  
“Make it three bottles. And I reserve the right to drink all three *by myself* tonight if I win.”

After another chuckle, Till nodded and said, “Fine, three bottles all to yourself if you don’t feel better after fishing.”

With a grunt of approval, Peter grabbed Till’s hand and shook it firmly.  
“Deal,” he said, confident that he could maintain his sour attitude through fishing, if only to win himself some alcohol.

“Excellent. Let’s go.”  
Till hauled Peter up by the hand he’d shook and then walked to the back door.

“Just so you know, I hate fishing, so you have your work cut out for—hey, the fuck, Till?!”

Till turned at the door, having already stripped off his shirt and was currently in the process of dropping his pants.  
“What? You expect to relax with your clothes on? Ridiculous.” He kicked his trousers off with a flourish to emphasize his point. "I also hate tan lines."

Peter put a hand to his forehead in exasperation. Of course Till fished naked; he had shown an affinity in the past for ditching his clothes whenever possible. The only comforting thought about the nude man grinning mischievously at him was that Peter could rest easy knowing he had a bigger dick than Till. That thought always made him smile.

With that said about his nakedness, Peter had never really paid attention to Till's comings and goings the past two weekends apart from what he brought to the metaphorical music-table. He’d have short brainstorming sessions and discuss the lyrics Till came up with, but that took two hours, tops. Then he wouldn’t see Till again for most of the weekend. It was a good arrangement, as Peter preferred being alone with silence when he worked. Till didn’t care much for quiet, and was seemingly just as happy around him as he was alone. And he could always holler out the window at him when he needed Till to come back in to work.

With an exaggerated sigh, Peter politely averted his eyes from Till's bare ass and moved to follow him out the door. Till held out his arm like a security bar to stop Peter from going out.  
"If this is going to be a fair bet, you need to do what I say to try and get you relaxed."

Peter was confused for just a moment before it hit him.  
"You're insane. I'm *not* taking my clothes off."

Till folded his arms over his big barrel chest and stared silently at Peter, who was already tired of this bet and they hadn't even started yet. With a groan, Peter knew he'd not hear the end of it, so he figured he may as well play along.

"Fine, I'll strip, but I'm keeping my underwear on," he said, negotiating. "It's still chilly out."

Till hmm'ed thoughtfully, then said, "I suppose that's fine. You're just going to get a stupid looking tan."

"I literally could not care less," Peter grumbled, yanking off his tshirt. Once he'd disposed of his jeans as well, he folded his arms and raised an impatient eyebrow.

"Can we go now?"

"Yes. Grab that pole next to the closet; it's my spare rod. You can use it."

Peter did as he was told, albeit with a hint of an irritated stomp in his steps. With a grin, Till opened the door and gestured for Peter to lead the way.

As they walked the worn path down to the lake, Peter was once again grateful for his secluded little studio, a gratefulness not the least of which was because he knew no one would see him strutting around in his underwear. He didn't particularly mind being naked, but liked to confine his bare ass to showers and lounging drunk on his sofa.

The two reached the dock, and Peter was surprised to see how nice a setup Till had made for himself. There was a comfy lawn chair, a spread of tackle boxes and buckets of bait, a line strung into the water to hold caught fish, and was that-- Peter squinted against the bright morning sun to read the label-- a bottle of Jack Daniels?

"What do you think?" Till asked as he unfolded another chair for Peter and placed it next to his own.

"This is actually impressive," Peter admitted. "I didn't realize you had an entire operation down here."

"You should come down to the lake more often. It's so well stocked with fish, you'd never have to purchase food again."

"Except I don't like seafood," Peter corrected.

"Well it's not from the sea, now is it?"

Till chuckled as he felt a semi-playful slap upside his head while he attached a lure to his pole.  
"Fine. You don't have to eat the fish. I'll enjoy them all myself, happily."

"I'll be too busy drinking to prepare fish anyway," Peter said with a scoff, "because so far, I still hate fishing, and would rather be taking a nap."

"Not to worry," Till said as he stood up and handed his spare pole to Peter. "The day is young and you've not even started."

Peter shrugged doubtfully, and then plopped himself into the chair. "Do I just cast out, or what? I've not fished since I was kid."

"Yes, but not too far. Your lure is for shallow water. Cast out, like this--" Till demonstrated a throw that went about 6 meters out. "Then, you reel it back in, slow enough to let fish bite, but quick enough so the lure doesn't sink. You have to keep it moving so the fish think it's real."

"This is already the most boring thing I've ever done," Peter complained, hauling back and casting out into the lake as Till had done.

"That's because you don't just fish when you fish," Till advised.

Peter furrowed his brow and looked over at his fishing mentor. "The fuck does that mean?"

"It means," Till said, grunting as he leaned out of his chair to fetch the bottle of Jack, "that you do things besides just fish."  
With a flourish he uncapped the bottle and then held it aloft.  
"Cheers," he said, then tipped the bottle back and took a large swallow from it. Till coughed, then held the booze out for Peter to take.

"That's just whiskey in there, right?" Peter asked warily. Till had an affinity for the types of alcohol whose fumes alone would burn paint off a car. He didn't trust that Till hadn't brewed his own concoction and just dumped it into an old bottle of Jack.

"I thought about it, but no. You still need some of your faculties when you fish. Gutting and cleaning them while shitfaced isn't a very good idea."

"Bad ideas haven't stopped you before," Peter sassed as he reeled his line back up.

"Just take a drink and fish."  
Till held out the bottle insistently.

"Fine," Peter grudgingly said, yanking the bottle from Till and drinking an experimental gulp.

Thank god. Just whiskey.

Peter sighed in relief and handed the bottle back.

"Now we take a shot of this every twenty minutes to keep a nice buzz. Well, maybe every thirty for you," Till amended, giving Peter a once-over. "You're a dainty little thing and might get wasted on just two shots."

Indignant, Peter shot Till a glare. "I hold my alcohol just fine, thank you."

"Not according to every bar in a 60 kilometer radius."

Peter grinned at that. It was true. He'd been kicked out, if not outright banned from a plethora of bars in the area, thanks to his frequent enjoyment of getting absolutely plastered in town.

"What was that last bar's reason for banning you?" Till asked thoughtfully. "Something about a rabid animal?"

"No no no," Peter corrected, already feeling the warmth of the alcohol hitting his stomach. "It was just an otter that a friend found caught in one of his water traps. He asked if I wanted to see it, and I said sure, bring it to the bar where I was drinking. That asshole brought it *into* the bar, where obviously I had to pet it. It bit me and got out of the cage. People were running around in a panic for ten minutes while the little thing bounced around the floor."

Peter chuckled. "Somehow all the property damage from people climbing on tables and chairs to get away was my fault."

"Was it not rabid, then?" Till asked.

"No. But I had to get a rabies vaccine anyway. Made my arm hurt for a week, but the otter was fine."

Peter threw out his line again and smirked as he recalled the sight of people shrieking and dodging the little little creature.

"That sounds like an isolated incident," Till said pointedly.

"Well, yeah. Got banned from the rest for throwing up all over and being a general nuisance."

The two chuckled at that, then went back to their fishing. Peter had to hand it to him, Till's fishing idea wasn't quite as bad as he initially expected. He still wasn't thrilled about it, but it wasn't terrible. Maybe it was the booze hitting him. He reached out and waved for Till to give him the bottle again.

Till grinned and happily passed it over.  
"Feeling more relaxed?"

After a swig, Peter replied, "Getting there. But don't put your wallet away yet. I want that Jäger."

"We'll see," Till said cryptically.

Peter didn't pay him any mind, focusing instead on casting and reeling in.

It took another twenty minutes for fish to begin biting, and by that time Peter was pleasantly drunk. Till had become lax on his timing with the liquor, and they took sips more frequently than his previous determining. Till seemed to be barely buzzed, and Peter envied his ability to handle alcohol. It took no more than 3 shots to render Peter just past drunk, and if he recalled correctly, he'd had probably 5.

"You might be right about the clothes," Peter said thoughtfully, knowing he was definitely drunk when taking his underwear off seemed like the best idea.

Till laughed, and made a "go ahead" motion with his hand.

Peter awkwardly slid off his briefs, and then after a moment, balled them up and chucked them as hard as he could out into the lake.

Till laughed louder. "What was that for?"

Peter shrugged. "Not a fan of those briefs. They were just the only thing clean this morning."

"Well now we definitely won't catch anything," Till lamented. "They'll all be repelled by your ass-stink spreading in the water."

Peter cackled, both from the drunk bubbly happiness he was reveling in, as well as the absurdity of the situation. Two friends, technically bandmates, sitting buck naked and fishing drunk.

Peter sighed and slumped back peacefully in his chair. The sun was shining down hot and bright on his skin, and he had to admit, feeling the heat on his entire body, even his groin, was quite pleasant. He'd never admit that to Till, of course. The bastard was smug enough that Peter had come along and gotten naked.

They caught maybe two fish over the next hour or so, and though Peter had cut back on the frequency of his drinking, he was quite drunk by the time Till stood up and stretched.

"Well?" Till asked, a smile quirked at the corner of his mouth. "Feeling better?"

Peter lolled his head over, resting on the back of his chair to look at Till with a goofy grin on his face.  
"Yeah. I'd say you cheated because of the alcohol, but this actually is pretty nice."

"I told you. Being outside in the air and letting the sun hit you *everywhere*--" he thrust his hips for emphasis, flopping his dick around, "--does a world of good. You need to get out more. Don't just sit at your computer for 12 hours at a time. It's not good for you."

"Yeah yeah, I know," Perer drawled, refusing to look over at Till's flaccid dick. "Heard it all before. Just take your "I told you so" and fuck off so I can enjoy the sun some more."

"Nope," Till corrected, tapping Peter's tattooed shoulder. "You're already getting sunburned. Time to pack it in."

"I don't care about sunburns. I'm gonna stay and take a nap."

"Nope," Till repeated, this time grabbing the back of Peter's chair. "You're not allowed to get a 2nd degree sunburn in the middle of mixing the album."

With that, Till tipped the chair back and began dragging both it and Peter back down the dock.

Peter yelled in surprise, grabbing the arms of the chair for balance.  
"Fuck off, Till!" he hollered, trying to get his footing to pull the chair back to the edge of the dock. Till was far stronger, and his protesting pulls didn't even slow the man. Peter flailed wildly, accidentally smacking Till in the face.

Till flinched as he was struck, and the movement caused him to drop the chair from his hands. Unfortunately, he'd let go just as Peter tried to yank the chair away again. Suddenly having no resistance, Peter and the chair flew forward, and staggered right off the edge of the dock. The shock of the freezing water sucked the breath from his lungs and sobered him greatly. He shouted and cursed and splashed wildly before realizing he could easily touch the bottom of the lake. Just his head was sticking out of the water, giving a perfectly framed view of his extremely pissed off face.

Till was surely about to asphyxiate from how hard he was laughing. Tears streamed down his face and he bent in half, trying to catch his breath between cackles.

"I've changed my mind," Peter said dryly, shivering hard as he swam up to the dock. "I feel worse than before now."

Till managed to pull himself together enough to reach a hand down and help Peter out of the frigid lake.

Peter resembled a wet dog, his long hair and beard soaked and laying flat and sticking all around his shoulders. His eyes glared fire over at Till, who was still trying to compose himself.

Peter stalked past him and landed a solid punch into Till's back, right at his kidney. Till barely noticed, but held up his hands in surrender as Peter grumpily stomped back to the cabin.

When Till got inside, he could already hear the shower running, most likely for Peter to warm up. Till barged into the bathroom and pushed his way into the shower, nearly causing Peter to stumble in the process.

"What the fuck, Till! Get the hell out!"

"I dont trust you not to fall over drunk and kill yourself in the shower. I can't produce this album myself, you know. Besides, the shower's big enough for ten people. Move over."

While his shower was indeed huge and rather luxurious, Peter was still indignant.  
"I'm not that drunk! You're not showering with me, asshole."

"Too late," Till said, showing his way under the steaming water. "And yes, you are that drunk. Look."

Till gave Peter a light shove, and Peter staggered, slipping wildly across the shower with his equilibrium clearly upset. Till grabbed the smaller man's arm to steady him, and Peter narrowed his eyes up at him.

"I swear to god, Till. If you so much as make *one* "dropped the soap" joke, I don't care how drunk I am-- you're getting kicked right out of the shower door."

With a smirk, Till released Peter's arm. "No promises."

Peter turned his back to Till in irritation and tried to let the hot water beating on his back suck out the chill in his bones.

"You're Swedish," Till added. "You should be used to being naked and wet in front of other men."

"In fucking *saunas,* not my goddamn bathroom," Peter snarled.

"Here, let me make it up to you," Till suggested.

Before Peter could turn and ask what the hell he was talking about, he felt cold shampoo being squeezed onto his head.

"Fuck's sake, Till, knock it off--" he started to yell, but Till ignored him and began massaging the soap into his hair.

A wave of pleasure hit Peter as Till's rough fingers rubbed and scratched against his scalp. He still grunted in annoyance, but didn't continue his irritated protests. Having his head massaged was one of his absolute favorite feelings. He took great pride in his hair, and made it a regular appointment to have it washed and cut professionally. He always sank into a blissful happiness when the hair stylists washed his hair for him.

Damn Till for cutting through his pissy mood.

"You take good care of your hair," Till quipped as he moved from massaging the scalp to lathering the rest of Peter's long hair.

Peter shrugged. "It's nice hair. Why wouldn't I take good care of it?"

"It is quite nice," Till agreed, spinning Peter around to point his head toward the shower water. He rinsed the soap out, taking care not to let it dribble into Peter's eyes.

"There. Silky and clean."

Peter opened his eyes carefully, squinting against the water.  
"Thanks," he grumbled, turning his back to Till again. "You're not bad at that."

Till smiled, pleased that he'd softened the man's mood.

If only he knew what else Till had planned to make sure his bet was safe.


	2. Relaxed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Till begs Peter for another shot at relaxing him.

After finishing in the shower, thankfully with no soap jokes, the two men got out and dried off. Till decided not to get dressed, while Peter donned a huge fuzzy bathrobe.

"Thank you for the fun," Peter said, "but now I need to get back to work. That took longer than the hour nap I’d planned so I'm getting behind."  
He trudged his way back into the living room, which was normally used as his base of operations. Till noted he was still wobbly on his feet; likely still drunk.

“Hey, hotshot producer,” Till called after him. “You don’t get to work tonight, remember?”

Peter looked back over his shoulder. “No, I won the bet. I would be feeling much better right now if I’d taken a nap rather than a freezing swim in the lake.”

“Oh come on,” Till protested. “You were having a great time before falling in the lake, and that’s what we agreed on: that you’d feel better after fishing.”

“Well I don’t feel better now, and now is technically still “after fishing” as well.”

Till narrowed his eyes at Peter’s back as he followed him into the living room.  
“That’s not what you agreed and you know it,” he insisted.

Peter just grunted in response, flopping down into his chair and spinning back to face his computer.

“Fine. If you’re going to be stubborn, I’m going to change the rules of the bet as well.”

Peter gave him a sidelong glance, but didn’t dismiss him outright. Till took that as permission to continue.

“I bet you an entire *case* of Jägermeister that I can get you to feel worlds better, and that it’ll last the rest of the night.”

Peter slowly swiveled the chair to face Till’s expectant face. He steepled his fingers together and pressed them to his lips, leaning his elbows down onto his knees. Till tried not to laugh at the man’s drunken attempt at seriousness.  
“And how on earth can you guarantee that? Just getting me drunk on your whiskey doesn’t count.”

“I promise it won’t just be the alcohol,” Till said sincerely, raising a hand to swear it. “What’s more, I promise it’ll take less than an hour. That way if I’m wrong and you win, you have all night to work and I’ll leave you alone.”

Peter gave a doubtful hmph, but was sufficiently curious. Or perhaps sufficiently pliable as he was still fairly drunk.  
“Fine.” He stuck out his hand to Till’s, shaking on their deal.

“Excellent. First things first, more whiskey.”

Peter snorted, but reached down into his desk to grab his favorite shot glass. They were no strangers to drinking and working, especially not Peter. He needed the release every now and then that being buzzed brought on. As Till was so fond of saying, he worked too hard. Plus, the shot glass helped him measure just how drunk he’d be getting.

After cheers and a round of shots (or a very large gulp from the bottle in Till’s case), Peter shook his head and growled from the pleasant burn of the alcohol.  
“All right. Tell me your grand plan for the next hour, then,” Peter said, kicking his foot stand up on his chair.

Till grinned, and flopped down onto the couch nearby.  
“We’re playing “Never Have I Ever,” first,” Till announced.

Peter laughed, and Till was glad to see he was more than receptive to the proposal. The bearded man’s grin softened his normally tough, classic “pissy metalhead” persona.  
“Go ahead, then. You first.”

“Hmmm,” Till mused for a moment. “Never have I ever been naked in public.”

Peter sighed in the middle of a laugh. He held out the shot glass with a knowing look. Till smirked, and took a swallow before pouring Peter his shot.  
“Considering I was with you when you pissed on that pool table, yeah, you better drink,” Peter said after downing his shot. “Never have I ever broken a bone.”

Till rolled his eyes, then took another drink. Peter knew he’d broken his wrist a few years before, and was very smug that he himself had never broken any bones. Till drank begrudgingly.  
“My turn,” Till said gruffly, clearing his throat after the alcohol burned down his throat. “Never have I ever played in a Swedish metal band that I founded.”

Peter squinted at Till and held his hand out for the bottle. “You aren’t fun to play with. Give it here.”  
He poured himself a shot, making a face as he downed it. “All right, if that’s how you’re playing, never have I ever jerked my own fake dick off into my mouth.”

Till cackled and grabbed the bottle again, swirling the brown liquid before tipping it back and swallowing. He was quite tipsy now, and felt the familiar sense of over-confidence swirling in his belly with the warmth of the alcohol.  
“Never have I ever done fake sexual shit with another man,” Till said, raising the whiskey to his mouth before he was even done speaking.

Peter was thoughtful for a moment, then reached out for the bottle. Till raised an eyebrow, causing Peter to chuckle at him as he poured and drank his shot.  
“I humped a drummer once when he bent over to grab his dropped stick.”

“Nowhere near as good as I was hoping,” Till said, shaking his head in disappointment.

“I’ll try to be more interesting with my fake sexual ventures in the future.” Peter stretched in his chair, a goofy smile glued to his rosy face. 

Till was relieved to see Peter settling into a happy drunkenness. Peter was normally a toss-up between either a rowdy drunk while at bars, or how he was now—calm, happy, and peacefully drunk. He was in the perfectly right spot for Till’s plot to seal his relaxation fate.

“Never have I ever done real sexual shit with another man.”  
Till didn’t move to take the bottle from Peter’s hands, choosing instead to wait for his response first.

The other man paused at the question. Peter stared hard at Till, his face a mixture of hesitation and a thinly veiled curiosity. The look boosted Till’s confidence further, and he found himself grinning as Peter sighed and nodded.  
“Once,” he said with a small smile at the memory. “Got drunk and had some fun with an old friend. It was a *very* long time ago,” Peter emphasized as he poured and drank his shot.

Till simply shrugged, then gestured for the bottle. Peter grinned right back at that.  
“Two weeks ago for me,” Till said, not a drop of shame in his voice as he drank. “He was a pretty little thing. Cute brown hair, nice ass; a bit like yours, actually.”

Peter barked out a laugh, again to Till’s relief, and said, “Glad I can give you good thoughts of fuck-boys past.”

Very nearly there, Till thought to himself, his brain already swimming from the alcohol. He wasn’t sure how Peter was staying so steady with how much he’d drank already. Till needed to hurry up before his drunkenness caught up with him.

“My turn,” Peter said. He put a pretend serious face on as he mulled over his next statement, causing Till to chuckle.  
“Got it,” Peter said as he snapped his fingers, a bit sloppily. “Never have I ever thought about propositioning my band mate for oral sex.”

Till’s mouth fell open and Peter started belly laughing at him.

“You can’t fucking compliment my ass and look at me like that without me seeing right through you,” Peter wheezed between laughing fits. “I’ve seen you with women. You do the same shit, every single time.” Peter finally calmed down from laughing, still snorting out an occasional giggle as he smiled at Till’s wide-eyed face.

“Well, pass over the bottle then, Gutenberg. You read me so thoroughly, you may as well have printed me.”

Peter started right back up laughing at Till’s terrible joke, and Till smiled to himself as he drank, a bit bigger swallow than before as he steeled himself.  
“So?” he asked once the whiskey had settled in his stomach.

“So what?” Peter asked, again stilling his laughter as he grinned over.

“So, do you want me to suck you off or not?”

Peter’s smile wavered slightly, and Till tried to look as calm and pleasant as possible, despite the thundering of his heart in his ears. He hoped he was coming off as smooth, rather than pathetic and drunk, which seemed a good bit more likely the longer Peter stayed silent. Till swallowed, annoyed that his throat was reflexively closing up from the awkward tension. He shouldn’t have asked, shouldn’t have tried to go this far, shouldn’t have pushed his luck with his friend. He was certain Peter was rethinking their entire partnership now; probably planning to scrap the album and cancel—

“Sure.”

“What?” Till had been so distracted by his spiraling he didn’t think he heard Peter correctly.

“I said sure. It’s been awhile though, just fair warning.” Peter opened his bathrobe and draped the sides of it over his chair, slouching back comfortably.

Till’s mouth still hung open in surprise.

“Well? Do I need to get it started for you?” Peter reached down and lazily stroked himself, seemingly wholly unperturbed by the situation.

Till shook his head to try and clear the confusing fog from it, unsure if the alcohol had finally made him snap mentally.  
“You’re, ah, you’re sure?” Till stammered. “It doesn’t bother you that I asked? I just wanted to relax you, and I don’t need anything in return—”

“Good, ‘cuz you’re not quite my type,” Peter said, grinning over at Till who was still rooted to the couch. “Not enough breasts for my taste. A mouth is a mouth though, and you’re a good friend. I trust you not to bite me.” That seemed to tickle him, and Peter broke out in a giggle fit at himself as he continued to play with his hardening dick.

Till finally wrestled himself up off the couch, slowly walking up to Peter’s office chair. Peter shoved down the foot rest and spread his legs apart invitingly. He smiled softly at Till, whose face had tightened into an anxious grimace.

“Relax,” Peter said, slouching back even further into the chair and closing his eyes. “I don’t bite either.”

Till smiled gently at the reassurance, and reminded himself Peter had readily agreed to this. Till dropped to his knees between his legs and put a tentative hand on Peter’s thigh. It was trim, and tightly muscled from the enthusiastic drumming he did, most likely. 

Peter cracked an eye open and looked down at Till, then chuckled as he saw Till just sitting and staring at his groin.  
“You’re free to admire my beauty as long as you want, but I’m gonna fall asleep. Be nice to get fucking blown before that, but it’s up to you.”

A grin spread across Till’s face at Peter’s crass statement. His eyes flicked up once more as he scooted in closer, feeling the heat from Peter’s body radiating out to him and drawing him in.

As Till gently pulled Peter into his mouth, the only noise that left Peter’s mouth was a soft, relieved sigh. Till began to greedily suck, easily wrapping his mouth around Peter’s stiffening length and rubbing his tongue against the man’s smooth skin. His head bobbed vigorously, and he brought a hand up to hold at the base of Peter’s dick for leverage. His other hand slowly stroked along his thigh, eliciting goosebumps and little trembles down the leg. 

Till had always loved giving head, both to men and women. He was proud of his tongue, and never wasted an opportunity to show off his skills in the bedroom. Though Peter wasn’t exactly someone he desired a full physical relationship with, he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t been wildly curious about the man sexually. He couldn’t help it; he was wired to want sex with nearly everyone he came into close contact with. 

Especially when they were as attractive and talented as Peter.

Till hummed in his throat, giving a nice vibration through his mouth and onto Peter. The man’s back stiffened, and a hand slid down to Till’s head tentatively. Till leaned into the touch, encouraging it. Peter might be open to the experience, but it didn’t automatically mean he wasn’t perhaps a bit hesitant with it.  
Another pleased sigh left Peter’s mouth, and his hand stroked across Till’s head as the man continued to eagerly suck. He popped his cock out of his mouth momentarily to catch his breath, switching to fervent stroking along Peter’s length. He dipped his head down to Peter’s balls and gave them an experimental swipe with his tongue. Peter groaned, and Till was pleased to feel Peter’s hand pulling Till further in.

“Oh god, keep doing that. Fuck,” Peter said breathlessly, rolling his head drunkenly to the side as he moaned.

Till was more than happy to oblige, and began licking and sucking along Peter’s balls passionately. The man’s back stiffened further, and Till felt him arch up into his mouth. He switched from suckling at his balls to gently fondling them, moving his mouth back up to his cock. Peter squirmed, his other hand joining the first on Till’s head as his breathing became heavier. Till felt a satisfying tightening in the man's balls, and was a bit relieved. At least he didn’t need to worry about Peter getting whiskey dick, literally.

Peter groaned, and tightened his hold on Till’s head. He didn’t pull at him, but Till felt an insistent pressure, encouraging him to swallow deeper. He did so, sliding him into his throat, and Peter gasped at the feeling. His hands faltered for a brief moment, and Till heard a quiet, “Oh fuck,” before feeling the gentle pulsing on his tongue. Peter held tightly at Till’s head, silently riding his orgasmic wave. Till was impressed at the man’s quiet composure, until he heard Peter gulp in a huge breath. He smiled as best he could around the dick, amused that Peter held his breath when he finished. It was a very cute quirk.

Once Peter released another drawn out moan, indicating he was slowly coming down from the high of release, Till finished swallowing and wiped his mouth politely as he sat back on his heels.

Peter lay sprawled in his chair with his head thrown back, eyes still closed and pleased smile seemingly permanently on his mouth.  
“I think,” he drawled, slowly opening his unfocused eyes and coming back to the present, “that you win the bet.”

Till chuckled and stood up, throwing an arm out for balance as his equilibrium struggled to catch up with his drunken body. “I told you I would.”

“What would you have done if I said no to a blowjob?”

Till shrugged and said lightly, “I’d have ordered you a prostitute.”

Peter snorted. “That’s illegal here. You’d end up in jail.”

“Then I’d take you to a strip club.”

“And if I didn’t want to leave the studio?”

Till began ticking off items on his fingers, “Hand job, ordering you porn, hand job *and* porn if you needed the help—“

Peter let out a breathy chuckle. “You actually made a list of things to help me relax. Incredible.”

“I really wanted you to relax,” Till said sincerely.

“And you really didn’t want to buy a case of Jägermeister,” Peter said, nodding to himself at his wisecrack. He stood up, staggering a bit both from drunkenness and weakened knees thanks to Till, but he steadied himself.  
“And now, I go to bed,” Peter announced loudly.

Till hesitated for the briefest of moments before venturing, “Any chance I could join you? Just for sleeping, I swear.”

“I don’t give one single fuck,” Peter said with a huge yawn. “Come on if you want. I’m drunk and passing out; I’m not gonna be bothered by another person in my bed. Body heat is nice anyway.”

Till followed like a happy puppy at Peter’s heels into the dark bedroom, pleased that the man hadn’t kicked him aside after he’d finished. He knew a relationship was all at once unlikely, unwise, and certainly unattainable even if Peter were interested, but this gesture of kindness despite the obvious barriers was comforting.

As they flopped down onto his bed together, Peter almost immediately began breathing the heavy, sleeping breaths of the drunk. Till scooted closer to the man who was sprawled on his belly, one of his hands dangling off the side of the bed. He dared to rest a hand across Peter’s back, but flinched away as Peter rolled over to face him. 

Peter blearily reached his hand out in the darkness, and once he found Till’s head, ruffled his blonde hair affectionately before flopping back down with a grunt. He’d let his hand rest up over Till’s head, and Till yet again cautiously pressed his luck by sliding even closer, laying his head against Peter’s chest.  
“This better not be in any papers tomorrow,” Peter mumbled.

Till nuzzled lightly against his chest. “Don’t worry. It was just something intimate between two men. None of anyone’s business but ours.”

Peter made a rumbling noise of agreement, then moved his hand again back to Till’s head. He sloppily patted him a few more times, his motions gradually slowing until Till felt certain he was fully asleep. His hand had come to rest atop Till’s head, and Till warmed at the touch. 

This couldn’t last longer than tonight, he knew. But he would savor the night for as long as he could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we have it! I hope this fulfilled your expectations for the prompt, Cherriiii! It was such a pleasure to write. Thank you so much for the idea <3


End file.
